


Strong Enough

by jacaranda_bloom



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on Fearless, Bottom Louis, Drummer Louis, Enemies to Lovers, Exes to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Frontman Harry, Idiots in Love, I’m sorry! It’s in the lyrics!, M/M, Singer Harry, Smut, Songwriter Louis, Top Harry, Walls Fic Fest, brief reference to Harry having been married (and divorced) twice, references to a mentioned character having multiple sclerosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24019507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacaranda_bloom/pseuds/jacaranda_bloom
Summary: “So…” Liam starts, and Louis instantly knows where this is going. He’s actually glad it’s Liam that's dragging the subject out from the shadows and into the light. Louis turns to face him, mirroring his position on the couch and nods, ready for him to continue. Liam takes a deep breath. “Have you spoken to Harry recently?”Five years after Vertigo goes on hiatus, the band comes back together for a benefit concert. Can Louis and Harry work through their complicated past, or are some wounds too deep to be healed?
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 77
Kudos: 336
Collections: Walls Fic Fest





	1. Spark That Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song 'Fearless' by Louis Tomlinson.
> 
> So this is my first attempt at an angsty fic. I usually write all sunshine and happiness and no angst or miscommunication but decided it was time to find out what all the fuss was about and challenge myself a bit. Anyway, this is the result. I sincerely hope it's not a pile of crap and that you enjoy the ride. xx
> 
> This was written for the [ Walls Fic Fest ](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/WallsFicFest/). Don’t forget to check out the other works from the fest! Big thanks to Nic and Maggie for arranging this. xx
> 
> The commissioned cover artwork for this fic was created by the immensely talented Tanya (aka wilywolf). Please go and show them some love on [ Tumblr ](https://wilywolf.tumblr.com/) and [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wilywolf92/).
> 
> To my brilliant and encouraging beta [ Nicola ](https://missytearex.tumblr.com/) \- you always astound me with your willingness to work so tirelessly and make my stories better. I can’t thank you enough.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [ jacaranda-bloom ](https://jacaranda-bloom.tumblr.com/) and if you’d like to reblog my [ Tumblr fic post ](https://jacaranda-bloom.tumblr.com/post/618465325867057152/strong-enough-by-jacaranda-bloom-explicit-21k) that would be lovely!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome, they make me happy and motivate me to keep writing. xx

Louis switches off the TV and chucks the remote on the couch beside him, sighing loudly and stretching out his legs, stiff from being tucked underneath him for so long. Cleo stirs and scrunches up her nose, whiskers fanning out as she yawns, claws extending and retracting before she tucks her paw under her chin and trains one watchful eye on him.

Throwing the soft blanket off his legs he heaves himself up to standing, the tiles cold underfoot even through his thick, woollen socks as he pads toward the island bench. When he’d sat down to watch a documentary on the Arctic ice melts the sun had still been streaming in through the large patio doors, warming the room. But as he’s prone to do when something piques his interest, he’d wandered down a bit of a rabbit hole and had proceeded to cocoon himself on the couch for a further three hours of related documentaries. Now the sun has set and the room is cast in dark shadows, the chill in the air permeating the entire space.

The rumble of his stomach had finally been the impetus to get his arse up and into the kitchen for something to eat. He stands in front of the open refrigerator, the contents revealing little in the way of an interesting meal but there’s enough to whip up a quick stir fry.

Cleo’s soft fur tickles at his ankles, winding in and out of his feet, drawn away from her comfy spot obviously keen for her dinner as well. The beers on the second shelf override his hunger and he grabs a couple of bottles and Cleo’s food, making her dinner and setting it down before picking up his pack of smokes off the counter and heading toward the patio doors.

The documentaries were fascinating and thought provoking, painting a terrifying picture of what the future holds without significant shifts in human behaviour. He thirsts for knowledge. Always has. Documentaries holding his attention more than any fictional storyline ever could.

He just… he wishes he had someone to talk to about it. He misses it. Having someone that understands him, someone he can share things with. He’s got all this noise in his head, opinions and views and tidbits of information, anecdotes and data, and other things and stuff.

Most of the time it doesn’t bother him, the loneliness. Most of the time he can simply distract himself with work or other hobbies. Most of the time.

He has friends, of course, sort of. But it never feels completely genuine even with those who had been friends before the fame. The interactions are always tinged with what came afterwards and he finds it impossible to separate the two aspects of his life. 

He flicks on the underfloor heating and lights the gas fireplace ready for his return, snatching up his black hoodie that lays draped over a dining chair and shucking it on, slipping his feet into his sheepskin boots. The cool night air sends a shiver down his spine as he makes his way out onto the flagstone deck that overlooks his estate. The rolling hills are bathed in moonlight, shadows creeping up over the ridges and down into the valleys. He sits down on the couch, fishing in his pocket for his lighter. Sparking it to life, he sucks hard on the cigarette, the red tip burning brightly as the tobacco crackles. Wisps of smoke rise into the air and then drift away, caught on the gentle breeze as he exhales and settles back into the cushions letting his mind explore and wander for a while.

He’d joined Vertigo as a fresh-faced twenty-three-year-old, just out of uni and at a crossroads in his life; to embark on a career and put his molecular biology degree to good use, or follow his dream of becoming a musician. The band was still starting out, just pub gigs mainly, but they had something special. Louis had caught a show at the Highgate Arms in Manchester and ended up staying after closing for drinks with the lads; Harry, the frontman and sometimes guitarist, Niall on guitar, bass, and fiddle, and Liam on keys. They’d hit it off immediately and when the conversation had turned to the current predicament of their soon-to-be-departing drummer, it was as though the stars had aligned. They auditioned Louis on the spot and he was a perfect fit.

A chance encounter with a music industry rep shortly thereafter was all it took for their meteoric rise to begin, and the rest, as they say, is history.

The Louis Tomlinson that was, ceased to exist, and he became Louis Tomlinson, the drummer from Vertigo.

He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray and lights another as an owl hoots in the distance, low and melancholy, befitting of Louis’ mood. He tries not to dwell on the past, tries to focus on the now and what his future holds, but sometimes the weight is too heavy to shrug off his shoulders. Regrets and missed opportunities interwoven with memories of the good times. But even those memories are stained with thoughts of what could have been. If he’d been stronger, braver. If circumstances had been different. 

It’s a love-hate situation. He is so grateful for what his time in Vertigo has allowed him to do; supporting his family, his charitable endeavours, and his current successful career as a songwriter. But there’s been a price too.

It had happened gradually, like shutters on the windows of a grand mansion, one by one closing and confining him to himself, pushing those around him further and further away until he found himself here, alone, disconnected, with no one to share his life.

It’s been more than fifteen years since that night in the pub, six years since Amsterdam, and five years since they’d officially announced the hiatus. Such a ridiculous word. It still makes him shudder.

It was Harry who had suggested it. The break. _Not forever_ he’d said, but Louis knew deep down it was the end, always able to read Harry like a book. Ten years of existing in each other’s pockets; on the road, on the stage, everywhere, lives inextricably intertwined. They were the best of friends, the closest of the group by far. On stage they were a force to be reckoned with, Harry forging a path through every song from upfront with Louis keeping time and watching for Harry’s cues from his platform at the back of the stage. Away from the lights and crowds, though, that’s where they truly became one; never tiring of the other’s company, sharing everything but always in check, never tipping over into something more.

For Louis, keeping his feelings under control was hard, but the fear of ruining what they had far outweighed his heart's desires. Instead, Louis wrote his love and pain and longing into their songs, hiding it in plain sight, for all the world to see.

In the end, the break was both unexpected and not at all surprising.

Liam and Niall were angry, at first, then sad, then angry again but although they wouldn’t dare admit it out loud, once the light was turned on at the end of the tunnel, they couldn’t get there fast enough. They were tired, all of them.

As a group, they outwardly opted for defiance as a mask and coping mechanism, a way to reassure each other that they were all going to keep living their best lives, even if they were apart, but they would never lose what they had. They’d stay close, of course they would, they said. Louis knew better. Time and distance has a way of wearing down even the strongest of bonds. The realization and finality of it all had left Louis feeling empty and disconnected, but most of all guilty, sure that it’d been his own actions and inability to gloss over it and deal with the aftermath by pretending it had meant nothing, that had triggered Harry’s decision.

Louis and Harry had been on a collision course for years, really. Amsterdam was just the final breaking point. Too pumped after a packed show, too many drinks, too much weed, lowered inhibitions, a dark club, bodies pressed together on the dance floor, a shared cab, rooms next to each other at the hotel, a lost keycard. It was such a cliche and yet felt so naturally inevitable it was almost absurd it hadn’t happened sooner.

For Harry, it had clearly just been another in a long string of one night stands, his flippant and dismissive attitude the next morning making that crystal fucking clear. He hadn’t even bothered to pause and give Louis the courtesy of a Good Morning before he was off and out the door of Louis’ hotel room, turning his back on the situation and Louis, still laying in the sheets stained with the evidence of the night before.

For his part, Harry had tried to pick up the shattered pieces of their friendship and put it back together again, go on as if everything was normal, even if only for the sake of the band. But for Louis, his world had changed forever. All those feelings he’d been suppressing and beating down with a stick for so long had finally taken flight, and there was no way he could ever go back.

He’d tried, of course. Had done his best to pretend it was okay, for a while, but for him, everything was just so different. He didn’t _want_ to go back, was the thing. On some level, he’d always known he was in love with Harry, but he’d also known Harry didn’t feel the same way; his indifference after their night together was proof positive of that. It was one thing for Louis to pine away, staring at Harry’s back on stage as he writhed and gyrated through their sets, but it was another to know how that body felt under him, on top of him, surrounding him.

It’d be another six long months before Harry would broach the subject of taking a break. Six months of drifting apart, painting on a facade, avoiding each other, and trying to navigate the world without the other by their side for support had taken its toll and Louis felt only relief when it finally happened. 

Vertigo ended with more of a whimper than a bang, assuring fans that it wasn’t goodbye, just a see ya later. But they knew, even as they said the words on stage that final night, and deep down, so did their fans.

Once the hiatus had set in, Niall went full-steam ahead and forged a successful solo career. It had surprised many, but Louis had always known the Irishman was destined to be more than just a cog in the wheel. A brilliant and talented musician with a star power that almost all had underestimated. Two number one records and a Grammy to boot had dispelled any lingering doubts and enabled him to break ties with the band.

Liam had worked hard, but it was more challenging for him, going from the guy on the keys to frontman, was never going to be an easy transition. He’s faced challenges finding his lane but he’s continuing to put out the music he wants, and whilst he doesn’t get the accolades Louis thinks he deserves, he’s doing well. 

Louis, for his part, had done as many predicted, shying away from the spotlight and focusing on his songwriting. He has written for some of the biggest acts on the planet and has a cabinet full of awards to show for it. He loves what he does and is highly sought after. From his fully-kitted-out home studio at his estate in the Peak District, he can work at his leisure, bringing in other writers and musicians as the need arises. Not that it does very often, preferring to work mostly alone with just Cleo for company.

And then there was Harry. As it turned out, he ended up being the biggest surprise of all. For so long he’d held audiences captive, the brightest star shining for all the world to see, everyone sure he would go on to even greater things as a solo artist. But once he’d fulfilled his final contractual obligations for the band he’d just… disappeared. For a year he went off the grid. Popping up from time to time in Jamaica or Italy or some other random place, getting papped or spotted by fans but never setting foot in the UK or US. The assumption was he was working on a solo album but nothing ever came. After the first year, Louis heard he went home, back to Holmes Chapel, back to his family. He laid low, rarely venturing out and the tabloids soon gave up on him.

It had been a strange transition for Louis, going from being one of four, coexisting day in and day out, to nothing. A text here and there from Niall or Liam to mark an event, a birthday, an anniversary. But never anything from Harry. Not that Louis ever reached out either. What was there to say anyway? He’d assured himself that it was for the best. For both of them. A clean break.

Still, Louis felt the loss deeply. He tried to fill the empty space by spending time with friends from home, travelling, partying, living a lifestyle he’d only ever dreamed of when he was younger and had so little. It wasn’t that his friends were using him necessarily, he was offering it up to them on a platter, the spoils of his fame; private rooms and private planes and private shows, all that money and celebrity could buy.

It had taken him a while to work it out of his system. He let it run its course, friends drifting away and back to their lives and loves. The spaces he’d tried to fill became gaping holes in a life that was devoid of purpose.

When he’d received a text from Niall eighteen months into the hiatus telling him that Harry was getting married Louis had dropped his phone like it was on fire. He was in Ibiza, laying on the couch trying to recover from the previous night’s partying, surrounded by a bunch of people he barely knew and didn’t much care for. He suddenly felt so very alone, and so very far from home.

Louis hadn’t even known Harry was seeing anyone. Emily was her name, a girl he’d apparently grown up with in Holmes Chapel and reconnected with when he returned home. The wedding a few months later had been a family-only affair, away from the media circus, and none of the boys had been invited. It had hurt, of course, but maybe not as much as it should’ve. The overwhelming feeling Louis had was relief. Relief that he hadn’t had to face him. Relief that he wouldn’t have to confront his own feelings. He’d spent a long time trying to drown them in expensive booze, the last thing he needed was to have the future he’d wanted so badly being thrown in his face. No. Those feelings needed to stay shoved into the recesses of his brain and he wasn’t about to let them loose again.

The news of Harry’s divorce hadn’t entirely come as a surprise. After the wedding, the media was all over them. Emily’s socials filled with loved-up selfies ripe for the pickings and the UK gutter trash outlets took the bait. They began rehashing Vertigo stories and fake scandals from their heyday and did more than a few _Where are they now?_ stories complete with the new images Emily was putting out there. Interestingly, the articles also referenced Emily’s step-father’s newly opened country club and her Instagram posts more often than not included relevant hashtags to point consumers in that direction.

Louis wasn’t fooled. He’d observed more than enough thinly-veiled attempts at cross-promotion from people wanting to ride on their coattails to know a gold-digger when he saw one. Not that he thought it was all Emily, but clearly her step-father had an agenda. When you’ve had that many people try to take advantage, it stands out like it’s illuminated with a fucking neon sign. 

Louis had seen the cracks in Harry’s resolve, even from his removed vantage point, watching him on social media, reduced to an outsider looking in. With each image Emily posted, each new pap picture that was strategically taken, the shine gradually disappeared from Harry’s face. The changes, infinitesimal as they might’ve been for those who hadn’t lived and breathed and catalogued every single one of Harry’s expressions, were as clear as day for Louis.

Time might have passed, but people don’t change, not at a fundamental level. Once upon a time, Louis was the self-appointed guardian of Harry’s happiness and the smiles that bloomed on his beautiful face. Louis knew all of Harry’s smiles, could draw them with his eyes closed. The ones born from real joy and the ones that are merely a cleverly constructed mask to hide his true feelings. His left dimple would show itself with regular occurrence when he was genuinely happy, but the right dimple used to be exclusively Louis’ to coax out. Harry had called it his _loudimple_ which was the silliest and most endearing thing Louis had ever heard and it was nowhere to be found in any of these images. 

Back then, before it all fell apart. Before Harry had walked away. Louis would feel complete elation and satisfaction when he could make him happy. But that was a long time ago, another lifetime, when he had someone to share his hopes and dreams with, and the random thoughts that bounced around in his head. Someone to come home to, no matter where they were in the world it didn’t matter, _home_ had always been Harry. That’s what he misses the most. The closeness, the friendship, knowing someone inside and out and having them understand him in the same way. 

When news of Harry’s second marriage hit the tabloids Louis had barely even flinched. The announcement was nothing more than blurry images taken with a long-distance lens, intruding on their special day and providing water-cooler gossip fodder for the masses. Her name was Polly, a model-slash-influencer and granddaughter of a Rock and Roll Hall Of Famer. The tabloids hounded them everywhere they went. Harry's vacant eyes had stared back at him from the screen, barely recognizable as the man he once spent almost every waking minute with. This divorce came even quicker than the first. Barely half a year. A tired looking Harry splashed across the front page trying to shield his face from the paparazzi as the headlines mocked him mercilessly. For the first time in years, Louis had seriously considered reaching out, but he didn’t. What would he have said anyway?

Harry had retreated again. Social media left abandoned. Red carpets left unwalked. He was a ghost.

It never made any sense to Louis why Harry hadn’t pursued a solo career, particularly when he had been the one to suggest the hiatus. He’d always loved performing. He came alive on the stage. Up there, in front of the crowds, belting out song after song, pouring his heart into it every night. Instead, he’d chosen a different path, searching for a relationship, to settle down. Something had never quite added up.

Louis stubs out another cigarette, pushing the butt into the glass ashtray, singeing his fingertip. Harry wasn’t his to worry about anymore though, never truly was, not like that anyway. Harry was a grown-ass man and didn’t need Louis, that much was made very fucking clear. And really, Louis could honestly care less. He’s moved on with his life and so has Harry, as wayward as his path might seem from the outside looking in. Louis has long since given up trying to work out his motives. He has better things to waste his time on.

The owl in the distance gives a final hoot as Louis goes back inside to make his dinner. Dinner for one. Before he heads to bed alone. And that… is just fine.

~~~~

A buzzing in Louis’ pocket catches his attention and he stops strumming his guitar mid-chord, straightening his leg out to retrieve his phone. Liam. Thumbing across the screen to answer the call, he hits the speaker button, arm draped lazily over the guitar as the afternoon sun streams in through the patio doors.

“Hey, Li. How’s things?”

“Yeah. Yeah uhm, good mate. You?”

“Alright. Can’t complain.” It’s a lie, he has plenty he could complain about but this is the practised small talk they’ve become experts at over the last five years, slowly but surely morphing into mere acquaintances. A pang of hurt and loss stabs at Louis' chest. Not so long ago, they knew everything about each other, every thought, every triumph, every sadness.

“Saw you’ve got another hit on your hands with that song for Laylo. I hear there’s a bit of Grammy buzz too. Congrats. Really happy for you, Lou.”

“Yeah, thanks. It’s doing well. She’s great. Super talented.” Louis hadn’t worked directly with her, just sold her the song. Another in a long line of heartbreak numbers with his trademark candid lyrics. Little did people know how honest and open he was being in the songs, and who they were truly about. As long as the words weren’t coming out of his own mouth no one would be arsed to question it. There’s a long pause before Louis realises that maybe he isn’t as good at this small talk business as he thought. He clears his throat, recovering quickly. “Caught a bit of a live stream from that show you did in Dubai. Looked sick.”

“Oh! Yeah, cheers. That was some show. Still weird on my own, but you know, I’m getting used to it.”

Liam had always loved being part of the band, perhaps more so than any of the others. He said it gave him a sense of belonging and he liked being part of something bigger than himself. 

Louis sets the guitar down as another silence stretches between them. He slouches back into the sofa and props his ankle up on his knee, tilting his head back and resting the phone on his chest, hands folded across his stomach. “What else have you been up to?”

They haven’t spoken in a month or so, at least Louis thinks it’s only been a month, it’s hard to keep track. 

“This and that. Got a few festivals lined up for later in the year over in the US, one in Mexico too.”

“That’s great mate,” Louis says, genuinely happy for him. Liam deserves the fucking world. 

“Got another thing I’ve been, uhm, thinking about actually…”

Ah. There it is. The purpose of the call. He wants a favour. But doesn’t everyone? Louis lets his eyes fall closed and squeezes them tightly, pops of light forming behind his eyelids. He tries to hold back the sigh but it escapes from his lips before he can stop himself. “Yeah? What do you need?” 

It comes out more clipped than he’d intended, his filter not what it once was. It’s just… there’s always an angle. Not with Liam specifically, just in general. It probably hits home more than it should. They’re not really friends anymore but Louis is still disappointed that now, even they’ve been reduced to this; bartering for favours, using each other.

“Uhm… well, it’s mum…” Liam trails off and Louis’ eyes flutter open. He sits up, taking the phone off speaker and holding it to his ear.

“Li. What’s wrong?”

“She’s… _fuck_. She’s got MS, Lou.”

All the air is suddenly sucked out of the room. His brain screeching to a halt. “Jesus Christ, mate. I’m so sorry,” Louis manages to get out past the lump that has firmly lodged itself in his throat. “When did- when did you find out?”

“About a month ago. She’s not too bad right now. Getting some treatment, but there’s only so much… Dad’s a mess. I just feel so helpless.” Louis hears Liam’s voice hitch and he’s up and off the sofa before he even realises what he’s doing, the last five years of gradual distancing evaporating in an instant. He’s overtaken by the urgent need to be physically close to him.

“You at your Derby place?” He asks as he strides purposefully over to lock the patio doors and then back into the kitchen.

“Y-yeah, I am. Came up from London a couple of weeks ago. Wanted to be close to home.”

Louis pulls open the fridge door and grabs Cleo’s food, dumping the rest of the tin into her bowl and adding a handful of dried food, setting it down on the floor next to her water fountain. “I’m on my way.”

“Oh… you don’t need to do-“

“Shush. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes,” he says as he heads down the hallway, slipping his wallet and keys into his pocket, grabbing his coat and sliding his feet into his vans.

Liam sighs heavily. “Thanks, Lou. I could uhm… I could do with a friend, actually. A real one. Feel like I’ve been holding it all together with scotch tape and hope.” Liam lets out a soft chuckle but Louis can hear the pain in his voice.

His chest feels tight. He should have made more of an effort. Shouldn’t have let their friendship slip away. “Do I need to bring booze?”

“Nah. No shortage of that. Gate code is seven-eight-zero-nine. I’ll leave the front door open. Fair warning. The house is a fucking tip.”

“Like I’d give a shit. If I didn’t have a housekeeper coming twice a week I would’ve had to move house to escape my filth long ago.”

Liam laughs properly at that and it makes Louis smile. “Still the same old Lou.”

“Oi! Who're you calling old? Anyway, why mess with perfection?”

Louis slams his front door shut and jumps into his Range Rover.

“I’ll see you soon, mate.”

Louis starts the engine and lets the warm air spread through the cabin. “Yeah. See you soon, Li.”

~~~~

The thing about Liam is that he’d always been the strong, stoic one. Boring, but in a good way, the backbone of the band, the one who grounded them and kept them on track. That’s why the sight of him sat on his couch in his sweatpants, shirtless and barefoot, elbows on his knees, hands wringing together and shoulders slumped, is a lot to take in.

He’s surrounded by take-out containers and pizza boxes, empty bottles of Coke, footie on the telly with the sound down, curtains drawn. He looks up as Louis walks in, the bags under his eyes made worse by the shadows flickering across his face from the large candle on the coffee table. The aroma is like a deja vu smack in the face, throwing Louis back to being on the road, the backstage hustle and bustle before showtime. Vanilla and jasmine and cloves. Liam always maintained it calmed him down and helped him prepare for the shows. Louis thought it was a pile of shit but he liked the smell and it seemed to help Liam, so who was he to judge.

Louis kicks a pizza box out of the way and dumps his phone and keys onto the coffee table, standing in front of Liam as he looks up, eyes red-rimmed and glassy with unshed tears.

“Hey, Lou. Thanks for coming.” His voice is soft, unsure, nothing like the man he once knew. 

“No place I’d rather be, mate.”

Liam casts his eyes down to his hands, they’re shaking, Louis realises, and that’s the final straw. He sinks down onto his haunches and pulls Liam into a tight hug.

He collapses into Louis’ arms and lets out a sob. “I don’t-“

“Shhhh…” Louis soothes, rocking him back and forth gently. “It’s okay.”

“I’m just so… so tired, Lou.”

Louis feels his tears on his neck where Liam has burrowed in. “You’ll be alright,” he says as he rubs Liam’s back. His skin is cold and clammy and he reeks of booze and weed but Louis just pulls him in closer, just wanting to take care of him, to take away his pain.

He lets Liam get it all out, chest heaving with the exertion of his cries. Minutes pass before his breathing finally starts to even out.

Liam pulls away, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “ _Fuck_. I’m a mess.”

“Well, you’re unlikely to win any beauty contests right about now,” Louis says with a smirk and the corner of Liam’s mouth curls up into a lopsided grin. “But a shower and some fresh clothes will definitely help. Come on. Let's get you sorted.”

Louis stands up and hauls Liam to his feet, guiding him towards the stairs. Liam turns around as they reach the bottom of the stairs, the smile having already faded from his face. “Thanks, Lou. I didn’t… I didn’t know who else to call. I know we haven’t been close, like, recently, but-“

“I’m glad you called. Really,” Louis responds earnestly. “Now. Shower, clean clothes. I’ll pop the kettle on and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

He watches Liam drag himself up the stairs like he’s much older than his thirty-seven years, clinging to the banister like a lifeline as his feet thud on the carpeted treads. Louis’ heart breaks for his friend, guilt washing over him for how he’s allowed their relationship to get to this point. Not that it was all one-sided, of course, it’s a two-way street. Still, Louis could’ve done more.

He wanders back into the living area and surveys the damage. Liam wasn’t pulling any punches, the place is definitely a pigsty. Sighing to himself, he fishes around in the cupboards under the sink until he finds a roll of garbage bags, some surface cleaner, and paper towels, and gets to work.

By the time Liam comes back downstairs, the kitchen benchtops and coffee table are actually visible, the dishwasher is loaded and humming away, there’s a pile of rubbish bags at the front door, and Louis is dunking tea bags in their mugs. “You clean up good, Payno,” Louis comments as he pushes his mug across the counter.

Liam runs his fingers through his damp hair, a few wayward droplets of water falling onto his white long-sleeved t-shirt. “Apparently so does my house. Thanks, mate. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense. What are friends for?”

Liam nods and drops his gaze, taking a sip of his tea and setting it back down as he slides onto a stool at the end of the bench. “I’m sorry. For… well for losing touch. It wasn't like, a conscious decision or anything.”

Louis sighs, shoulders drooping. “Yeah, I know. For the record, I’m sorry too. Can’t believe we let it get this bad.”

Liam looks up with those big, brown, puppy-dog eyes, and Louis is a goner. He’s never been able to resist that look and he smiles reflexively. “Let’s not let it happen again,” Liam says and lifts his mug for Louis to seal the promise with a clink of porcelain.

“Deal.”

They spend the next hour catching up on everything going on in their lives, artfully avoiding the topic of Liam’s mum, just skirting the edges, until there’s nowhere else to hide. Tea had transitioned to beers and they now find themselves sat on Liam’s deck, passing their second joint back and forth, wisps of white rising into the still night air.

“So…” Liam starts, voice strained as he holds his breath, lungs full of smoke. He exhales and sits forward on his chair, a serious expression on his face as he stubs out the last of the joint. “I uhm…” he continues but trails off to nothing.

“Spit it out, mate.” Louis takes a swig of his beer and eyes him warily, waiting for the favour he’s been expecting since their earlier phone call.

Liam picks at the label on the bottle. “I uhm… I want to do something for mum, well, for the MS Society. To raise funds and awareness.”

“Like a benefit?”

Liam looks up, hope in his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, something like that. The society is amazing, but they always need more money for research and support. And I’ve been looking into it and like, I figure, I’ve got all this fame and all these connections and this platform right? So I wanna use it for good, you know? Do something real. They’ve got people who help with this sort of thing, the organizing and whatever, and I feel like if I don’t do something I’ll go mad because I can’t control anything. I can’t fix it. I can’t make her better. And I just-“

“Hey,” Louis says softly and reaches out his hand, laying it over Liam’s on top of the table. “It’s okay. Take a breath.”

“Sorry… I’m just…” Liam shakes his head and looks down at their hands. “I swear I’m going crazy. I’ve gotta fucking _do_ something. Channel all this energy and anger somewhere,” he says, an edge of frustration in his tone. Louis draws his hand back, settling into his chair and preparing himself for the pitch. He knows how this goes but he’s used to there being a boardroom table or a Brady-Bunch-style tiled Skype screen between him and the suited men and women wanting his money, his time, or both.

Louis waits, but the pitch doesn’t come. Instead, Liam gets up from his chair. “You crashing here?”

He’s startled by the question, reasonable as it is. He’s had too many beers and too much weed to drive home now. “Oh, uhm… yeah. That okay?”

“Mhmmm…”

“Thanks, man.”

Liam takes a few steps and turns, walking backwards. “Want another beer? Or something stronger?”

“Could go a vodka if you’ve got some, actually.”

“Yeah, course. You wanna get the fire pit going?” Liam points to the sunken lounge area off to the other side of the deck. “I’ll order us some pizza too.”

“Sounds like a solid plan,” Louis says with a nod and makes his way over as Liam heads inside. He’s a bit confused. Did he misread the situation? He mulls it over as he lights the gas fireplace. They’re not as nice as an open fire but definitely a lot less hassle.

The cushions on the circular lounge are soft and he sinks into them as the warmth of the fire heats his skin. His mind wanders, thoughts churning around about what the benefit might entail. He could just donate money, that’s easy. Buy a table or two perhaps and give the tickets to his business associates. It’s just… this is Liam. He’s suddenly hit with the desire to do more. To make it more personal. For him to actually be a real part of this in some way. 

Liam returns with a bottle of vodka, a few cans of Red Bull and a bowl of ice. “Ordered us a meat one, a seafood one and a veggie one. Figured we could have the leftovers for breakfast.”

Louis nods in acknowledgement as Liam sits down and makes their drinks, generous on the vodka, handing one to Louis which he takes and sits forward, swirling the ice in his glass.

An idea starts to take shape in the back of his mind, like a dream fighting its way through into his consciousness after he wakes, wafting in on a soft breeze, and gradually manifesting itself before his eyes until it’s big and bold and fully formed, right there before him.

“We should get the band back together,” Louis blurts out, surprising even himself, brain to mouth filter seemingly having abandoned him. He sets his drink down firmly on the edge of the firepit and his eyes dart up to find a mirror image on Liam’s face of what his own expression must look like. “For the benefit,” he quickly clarifies. Liam just sits frozen in place, mouth gaping open, so Louis barrels on, the idea becoming more and more sure as the seconds tick by. “Like, you know, a reunion show. Donate the proceeds to the society.”

“W-what?” Liam manages to get out, glass held in front of him, halfway to his lips, not moving a muscle.

“Yeah. Yeah, for sure,” Louis says, excitement starting to creep into his voice even though he can scarcely believe the words are coming out of his own mouth. “I’m sure Niall would be up for it. And we could probably sell out a decent sized venue without too much trouble.”

“Wait… You’re serious? You’d do that?” Liam’s eyebrows have pretty much disappeared into his hairline, eyes out on stalks.

“Why not?” Louis shrugs, batting back the doubt that’s trying to force its way to the forefront of his mind. “It’s for a great cause and I’d be honoured to do it for your mum.”

“I can’t… wow. I’m just, well, shocked is all. I wouldn't have thought you’d be keen for something like that. I’d hoped you might be willing to release a song from our archives, maybe, but this… this is fucking huge, Tommo.”

“Right... A song from the archives? That probably would’ve been an easier option,” Louis chuckles nervously and Liam gives him a wry smile but Louis is all-in at this point. Now that he's got his mind set on this, he’s surprised at how much he truly wants it. He hasn’t performed on stage since they went on hiatus and he suddenly realises how much he misses it; the crowd, the noise, the madness backstage, the adrenaline rush when he sits at his kit with the lights down, anticipation palpable in the air, and then the sheer euphoria of striking that first beat. There’s no other feeling like it.

Liam shifts in his seat. “You really think Niall would be up for it?” He takes another mouthful of his drink and looks expectantly at Louis. He’s not really asking about Niall. Louis knows that much. But Liam always did have a shit poker face and it appears as though that hasn’t changed in the last few years.

“Yeah, for sure,” Louis offers, ignoring the unspoken question. “He’d be down for it, I’d reckon, as long as he can work it into his schedule. I think he’s winding up his European leg at the moment.” Louis may not have kept in constant contact with him but he’s fairly certain he’d mentioned something about upcoming sold-out shows at the O2 last time they spoke.

Liam nods along and refills their drinks, an even heavier hand with the vodka this time. Good man.

Louis takes a big gulp, the fizz of the mixer bubbling up into his nostrils as the spirit warms his throat. The firelight dances in Liam’s glassy eyes as they excitedly jump straight to staging and potential set lists, dates, and possible venues. They relive some of their favourite performances as they eat their pizza and make a decent dent in the bottle of vodka.

It’s good, is the thing. Being able to reminisce. The highs and lows of being in a world-famous band. Shared experiences. Unique. Treasured.

It’s nearing midnight before Liam braves the subject they’ve been artfully skirting around all evening. Bottled bravado apparently reaching its peak. The one subject neither of them wants to address even though they’re both keenly aware it was only a matter of time. The great, big, scary elephant in the room. The conversation Louis knows they have to have. Harry.

The cold night air has chased them inside and Liam twists in his seat, resting his knee up on the couch, one of their old albums playing on the sound system and providing a backing track to what comes next. It’s fitting, in a way.

Until now it’s been a pleasant trip down memory lane, laced with the theoretical idea of a reunion show. Innocent because it’s not yet real. Possible because Louis hasn’t had to overcome the enormity of what lays ahead if they continue down this road.

The biggest obstacle is still in place, firmly ensconced as a roadblock, cemented in their path and preventing them from moving forward. The thing is, it’s not actually Harry that’s the problem. Harry, for all his faults, for whatever decisions he’s made to lead to him to where he is in his life right now, would move heaven and earth and all that’s in between to help Liam, to support him. No. It’s Louis. He’s the one that has to reach out. He’s the one that has to let go and get the fuck over himself. It’s been five years for Christ's sake. It’s time to move on and suck it up.

“So…” Liam starts, and Louis instantly knows where this is going. He’s actually glad it’s Liam that's dragging the subject out from the shadows and into the light. Louis turns to face him, mirroring his position on the couch and nods, ready for him to continue. Liam takes a deep breath. “Have you spoken to Harry recently?”

There’s no point running away from it, not now that Liam has broached the subject. After all, there’s no Vertigo without Harry. Whilst they may have all had equal footing from a business standpoint, there’s no denying that from the public’s perspective, Harry was, and always will be, the face of the band.

He decides to rip the bandaid right off. “I haven’t. Not since… well, not since we went on hiatus,” Louis says matter-of-factly, looking away to give himself another moment before he has to face Liam’s reaction. He says it like it’s no big deal. Like admitting his failing isn’t somehow monumental. And it is his failing. He doesn’t blame Harry, not really. It might take two-to-tango and all that bullshit but it was Louis’ decision to withdraw from their friendship, to put the distance between them, to save himself and protect his heart from shattering into a million pieces, even if the selfishness of the act resulted in the demise of the band. No. If anyone had the responsibility to reach out between the two of them, it was Louis.

Louis glances back and finds Liam surprisingly, well… unsurprised. It’s not like Louis expected him to flail around and be truly shocked, but he hadn’t realised he'd take it in his stride so easily either. Liam nods slowly and watches Louis with cautious eyes, as though he’s a wild animal and he doesn’t want to scare him away. “So… not, like, at all?”

It somehow makes Louis feel even worse that Liam is so tentative. “No. We just… life just took us in different directions,” Louis drifts off, the hem of his shirt becoming very interesting all of a sudden. He pulls at a thread and twines it between his fingertips. “I mean… it was for the best. For both of us. It was too hard. We couldn’t… I couldn’t-“

Louis realises too late that the words and their implication are already out, drifting between them and he wants desperately to reach out, grab them, and shove them back down his throat. But that ship has sailed. The damage is done.

Liam’s brows furrow as he processes what Louis has said and Louis sees the moment he catches on. “ _Shit_ , mate,” Liam says on an exhale and slumps back into the soft cushions. “So it really was a thing then. Like, you and Harry?”

He could deny it. But why bother? The fact that just those few words were enough for Liam to work it out signals that he must’ve been even more woeful at hiding his feelings back then than he thought.

Louis pulls his knees up to his chest and sighs, wrapping his arms around his shins and digging his socked feet under the couch cushion. “Not really. Well, not for him. It was all me. All in my own stupid head.” 

He says the last words with a hint of disgust at how he’d behaved back then. How he’d allowed his heart to override his head and ruin everything. It’d taken away the best friend he’d ever had. The band would always have gone on a break for one reason or another, that much Louis is aware of, but to have this be the cause, and to lose Harry in the process, was something he’ll likely never forgive himself for.

Liam sits and waits expectantly for Louis to go on, but he doesn’t. He can’t. Having spent so long pushing it down into the depths and hiding it away from himself and everyone else, he’s not sure how to even give voice to thought.

When it’s clear Louis isn’t going to elaborate, Liam probes on. “But something happened. During that last European tour?”

Louis nods and drops his head down onto his knees. “Yeah. Something happened,” he mumbles. “We hooked up and I thought it was the start of something when clearly I was mistaken. Harry had bailed by the time I woke up in the morning and then he acted like nothing had even happened. Things just weren’t the same between us after that.”

A soft touch on his ankle makes Louis raise his head. Liam’s expression is kind but there’s pity behind his eyes too. “Oh, Lou. I had no idea it’d gotten that far. You two were always so close. I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks, Li. And yeah, it was hard, but it’s been ages.” Louis sits up and straightens out his legs, a newly found determination washing over him. “Anyway. Now’s as good a time as any to put it all behind us. New beginnings and all that. What do you reckon? We gonna do this thing?”

“Are you sure?” Liam asks sceptically and Louis gets why, but he is sure. It’s past due. He needs to move on and put this to rest once and for all.

“Yup! Let’s do it. I’ll make the call first thing in the morning and then we’ll go from there,” Louis says and sends a silent prayer up the heavens for his future self.

~~~~

The morning brings a heavy weight of realization paired with a banging in his head like there’s a family of woodpeckers parked behind his eyelids. He's not sure which is more painful but he’d hazard a guess the hangover is being egged on by the building trepidation he has about the phone call he needs to make. Or, the _impending call of doom_ , as he’s taken to referring to it in his brain.

Liam has been skittish all morning, tiptoeing around Louis like he’s a bomb ready to explode which is fair enough really. Louis has been chain-smoking and practically mainlining tea since he got up and his demeanour hasn’t exactly been sunny. Even the leftover pizza and pain killers weren’t enough to give him any relief. It’s just… this is a big fucking deal. 

He’s imagined this in his head so many times and in so many different ways over the years and not a single one of those scenarios have gone well, even when he’s in complete control of both sides of the conversation. Now he’s introducing a real, live, person on the other end of it and he’s bloody terrified.

There’s so much that could go wrong. What if Harry hangs up on him? What if he sends him to voicemail? What if he has his number blocked?

Louis sits on the deck and stares off into the distance. Draining the last of his tea he closes his eyes as he runs the conversation in his head for the millionth time.

“I’m gonna head into town and grab a few things from the shops,” Liam announces, startling Louis from his internal dialogue. He opens his eyes and looks up to see Liam hovering beside him with a fresh pot of tea, a jug of milk, and another pack of smokes. Bless him. “You gonna be right here until I get back?”

Louis nods as Liam sets the things down on the table. “Thanks, Li. Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Want me to grab anything for you?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

Liam hesitates and Louis can sense he wants to say something about the call, but he knows Louis well enough not to. “Alright. I’ll be back in about an hour. Help yourself to anything. Mi casa, su casa and all that.”

“Cheers, mate.”

Liam heads off with a wave and then Louis is alone. He pours himself another cup and lights a smoke. It’s just gone eleven and he thinks that’s probably an alright time to call someone on a weekday. He picks up his phone and there’s a text reply from his housekeeper telling him she’s fed Cleo and will drop back around in the evening to stay with her for a bit and sort out her dinner. He swipes the text and sends a quick thanks.

He taps open his contacts and scrolls through until he finds Harry’s name, trying to quell the nerves in his stomach and the trembling of his fingers. He’d made sure to check with Liam but after all these years, Harry hadn’t changed his number.

Taking a long, final drag of his cigarette, he stubs the end in the ashtray and blows the smoke out through pursed lips. He plugs in his headphones and pops the buds into his ears, never quite having progressed to AirPods.

He shakes his head. He can do this. It’s just a fucking phone call. “Just fucking do it already,” he chastises himself and hits the number. No going back now.

There’s silence while he waits what feels like an eternity for it to connect. He holds his breath and squeezes his eyes shut, trying and failing to calm himself.

The first ring makes his heart slam into his rib cage. The second ring sounds like a siren in his ears, loud and alarming and scary as all hell.

“Hi, this is Harry, please leave a message.”

Louis' eyes fly open and he hangs up immediately. Voicemail. It didn’t go straight there and it didn’t ring enough times for the call to have been automatically diverted after no answer, which means… _fuck_. Harry sent him to voicemail. 

Of all the scenarios, this is probably the one he’d dreaded the most. He sits and glares at the screen. Harry’s contact staring right back at him. Harry clearly doesn’t want to talk to him, which is fair enough, but he really thought that even a base-level curiosity at the reason for Louis’ call after all these years would get him to answer.

He’s about to chuck the phone down when the screen changes from the white background of the contact screen, to black, and starts vibrating in his hand. It takes him a beat to realise that it’s an incoming call. Harry.

He takes a deep breath and swipes to answer.

“Harry?”

“Louis?”

“Hey.”

There’s a long pause and a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line before Harry replies. “Hey.”

Well, this is going swimmingly. 

“Y’alright?” Louis ventures, trying to ease into it.

“Shit. Sorry. I uhm… I panicked when I saw your name and hit the wrong button…” Harry trails off, still the same trademark low and slow monotone speech that’s always crept under Louis’ skin and made it prickle with something like want. He internally curses his stupid brain that seems to think it’s okay to slip back into old habits so easily.

“That’s okay. Thanks for calling back.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Harry says flatly, not giving Louis an inch.

Louis had expected as much and he’s ready for whatever Harry is going to throw at him. He can do this. “I appreciate that you did.”

“No. I mean…” Harry sucks in another lung full of air. “I wasn’t going to because I figured it was a mistake but then I thought maybe it wasn’t and you’d think I’d flicked you to voicemail on purpose and maybe it was, like, an emergency or something so yeah, I thought. Fuck. I don’t-“

“Woah there cowboy,” Louis says with a soft chuckle. “That’s a whole lotta words in one breath, especially for you.”

“Heeeeeyy…” Harry drawls. “Gimme a break. You’ve caught me off guard.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Louis says and he can’t stop the grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth. Even after all these years, he’s utterly helpless to resist.

“So… was it?”

Louis frowns and tries to remember what the hell Harry’s referring to. “Was it what?”

“A mistake?”

“Oh! Uhm… no, no it wasn’t. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

Louis can hear the wariness in Harry’s voice and he gets it, he does. He wants to talk to him properly, about everything. But he doesn’t want to do it over the phone, not after all this time has passed. Harry deserves more than that.

“I… look. I’m… _fuck_.” Louis slouches back into the couch and scrubs his hand down his face. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

“It’s been a long time, Louis.”

“Yeah, I know. Trust me, I know. But listen. I’ve got something important to discuss but before we get into all that I just wanna say that I’m… I’m sorry, Haz. I know it’s a drop in the ocean and I owe you more than a cursory few words after all this time but-“

“I’m sorry too,” Harry says quickly, cutting Louis off.

Louis smiles, just those three words warming him from within and he tucks his feet under the couch cushion and lays down, phone beside him and head pillowed on his hands.

“I’ve missed you.” It’s a simple enough statement and the truest thing he’s spoken in a long time. It’s a risk, he knows that, putting it out there, laying himself bare in front of the one man who ever crushed his heart but his defences are down and he doesn’t want to be afraid any more. Harry doesn’t say anything for a while but Louis can hear him breathing heavily in his ears. 

“What was this important thing you wanted to discuss then?” Harry asks, not addressing Louis’ words, and that’s okay. Baby steps. He hasn’t hung up on him yet at least.

“I’m at Liam’s. He’s uhm… his mum’s sick.”

“Oh god. Karen’s sick?” The concern is evident in Harry’s tone. They were all close, back then, families intertwined, particularly in the early days.

“She’s got MS, Haz. She’s getting treatment, but you know, it’s not good.”

“Fuck. How’s Liam?”

“About as you’d imagine. Doing it tough. He just feels helpless, you know? That’s why I’m calling actually.”

“What can I do?” Harry asks immediately. There might be a lot of water under the bridge but people don’t change, not at their core, and Harry has always been the first to pitch in to help others in need.

Louis takes a deep breath. “We were talking last night and I suggested doing a one-off reunion show. A benefit for the MS Society. Something in London or Manchester probably,” Louis says and waits a beat to see if Harry will shoot him down in flames before he gets too far. He doesn’t, so Louis keeps going. “Niall will be done with his tour commitments in a couple of weeks and Liam and I don’t have anything that can’t be shifted. So really it’s just-“

“Me,” Harry finishes for him.

“Yeah, you. And I understand if you have concerns-“

“No. No, I’m in. I mean, it’s for Karen. Of course, I’m in. Wait. Did you think I wouldn’t be?” Harry asks and he sounds hurt by the mere possibility that Louis thought he wouldn’t have been completely on board.

“I didn’t… it’s been a long time and we have… issues.”

“Shit, Louis.” Harry sounds almost angry and Louis suddenly feels very small and self-centred to have even considered that Harry would be worried about the comparatively insignificant personal problems they’ve had in the face of something as important as this.

“Sorry. I didn’t know-“

“What? You thought I’d still be hung up on our past? Fuck’s sake, Lou.” Hearing the affectionate nickname for the first time coming out of Harry’s mouth takes Louis by surprise, even though it’s said with a touch of venom. “Can’t believe you really think so little of me, after everything…”

“No. No, of course not. Sorry. I just don’t know what you’ve got going on these days,” Louis says, scrambling to regain his footing in the conversation. He feels like a piece of shit and he doesn’t know how to recover.

“Well, I’ve got nothing going on. You’d know that if you’d ever... You know what? Never mind. Look. I’m in. Just keep me in the loop. I gotta go.”

“Wait. Harry,” Louis says, desperate not to end the call like this.

“What, Louis?”

“Can we… can we meet? I just,” Louis sighs. “I want to clear the air and I don’t want to do it over the phone. I think we owe each other that much… after everything,” Louis says, repeating Harry words back at him.

The silence drags on for an uncomfortably long time and he can practically hear the gears turning in Harry’s head through the phone, but Louis just waits. He’d wait forever for this man and that’s his cross to bear, his weakness. Always Harry. Even after all these years, even after everything that went down, all the pain and hurt and heartbreak, he’d go to the ends of the Earth and back for this man and he realises at this moment, that’s something that is never going to change.

“Yeah. Yeah, alright. When and where?”

He’d hoped Harry would agree but he’s a little shocked nonetheless. He wants to make it soon so they can move forward without this hanging over their heads. “How’s tomorrow? My place at around six?”

“Okay. Still the same estate?”

“Yeah. I’ll text you the gate code.”

“Alright. See you tomorrow.”

“Harry?”

“Mmmmm?”

“Thanks. And I really am sorry. For everything. For all of it.”

“Me too, Louis. Me too.”

Harry ends the call and Louis lays there for a while. The tears come after a few minutes. The sobs shortly after that. At first, he doesn’t try to stop them. A good cry can be healthy, after all. Then he can’t make them stop. It’s as though five years of pent up emotion and regret and frustration and loss and bone-deep sadness is flowing out of him uncontrollably.

That’s how Liam finds him an hour later. Curled into the fetal position, still clutching his phone, body aching, lungs gasping for air. He’s so tired. So fucking tired. Liam manages to get him upstairs and into the bath, then bundled into bed, and he’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.


	2. Do You Still Remember

Louis wakes to the sunlight streaming in through the window of Liam’s guest bedroom for the second morning in a row. He stretches out his arms and legs under the soft white duvet and burrows his face into the pillow. He feels a hundred years old and reborn at the same time. He checks the time on his phone and realises he’s slept for nearly twenty-four hours. Fuck.

Liam’s left some clothes for him on the end of the bed like the good host that he is, so he freshens up and replies to a text from his housekeeper and assuring her that he’ll be home this afternoon in time to feed Cleo, and then heads downstairs in search of some food and a cuppa.

He finds Liam sat at the piano on the far side of the living room, a world away as he plays a classical piece Louis doesn’t recognize. Not wanting to disturb him, Louis pads quietly into the kitchen, stomach grumbling on cue as he makes himself some tea and a bowl of cereal.

The piece is beautiful, building and receding, drifting along and drawing Louis in as he sits at the island bench and eats his breakfast. He’s never heard Liam play anything like it before, always having stuck to their indie rock style when they were in the band.

Liam finishes the piece and looks up, a calmness in his big brown eyes. “Oh! Hey. Morning, Lou. Sleep okay?”

Louis nods and swallows his mouthful of cereal. “Yeah. Slept like the dead.”

Liam gets up and comes to join him in the kitchen. “You were pretty out of it, mate. Was worried about you,” he says as he comes up behind Louis and wraps his arms around his shoulders.

“Freaked myself out a bit actually. Not sure what happened to be honest,” Louis says and pats Liam’s forearm. “Thanks for taking care of me even though I was supposed to be here taking care of you.”

“Nah. You’re fine. We took care of each other. That’s what friends are for.” Liam kisses him on the top of his head and makes his way to the fridge, grabbing an armful of various green things and dumping them on the counter.

“Harry’s coming over to my place tonight and we’re going to have a proper talk,” Louis offers, unsure of how much he communicated to Liam in the state he was in yesterday. “It’ll be fine. We just need to sort things through.”

“Seems like it’s well overdue.” Liam eyes him cautiously. “I hadn't realised it was so intense for you. I’m… I’m sorry. I feel like I should’ve seen it and been able to help somehow.”

“It’s alright. Thanks. But like, this was my issue. I kept it hidden to try and protect myself. Worked out pretty well don’t you think?” Louis asks sarcastically, quirking his brow and grinning in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Liam snorts out a laugh so Louis will count that as a win. “Yeah. Good call there,” Liam says as he turns back around and sets a scarily serious looking blender down on the counter presumably to make an even scarier green smoothie if the ingredients are anything to go by. He pauses and looks back up. “Were you in love with him?”

Louis sighs and sets down his mug of tea. He doesn’t see the point in hiding it anymore, his behaviour has made it pretty obvious and he may as well get everything out in the open. Clean slate and all that. “Yeah. Still am, I think. Hence the meltdown.”

“Shit. Well. Sounds like you definitely need to talk it through with him. Even if you still have feelings for him, I think you could do with some sort of resolution, it might not be closure, but you need something so you can move forward.”

“Mmmm… that’s what I’m hoping for. Anyway. Did you speak to Niall?”

“I did,” Liam says and looks past Louis with a smirk on his face. “As a matter of fact-“

“Aye up, Tommo!”

Louis sprays a mouthful of tea across the counter as he’s slapped on the back. He spins around and is suddenly enveloped in the arms of his favourite Irishman. “Oh my god! Nialler!”

Niall steps back and holds his arms out wide. “The one and only. How are ya, buddy?”

Louis stands up and pulls him back in for a proper hug, tears instantly welling up and threatening to overflow yet again. Surely he’s going to reach a limit on that soon, preferably before he sees Harry this evening.

“Fuck, you scared the crap out me, you utter wanker,” Louis says and reaches between them to twist Niall’s nipple.

“Oi!” Niall squawks and swats Louis’ hand away. “Don’t you start that shit again. We’re grown-ups now.”

Louis flops back down into the stool and crosses his arms like a petulant child, “Says who?”

“Says me,” Liam offers and throws a stalk of kale at Louis’ head.

“Hey! Keep your weird green stuff away from me,” Louis chides, pegging the offending vegetable back at Liam.

“Awwww… I’ve missed you guys,” Niall says fondly and sits himself down next to Louis.

Louis turns to face him, still not really believing that he’s here, that the three of them are in the same room again after all this time.

Liam sighs happily. “Feels like the good old days. I’ve missed this.”

“My nipple would disagree,” Niall says, wincing as he rubs his chest. A beat passes and the three men burst out laughing.

They spend the next couple of hours catching up and discussing the reunion show. Niall’s all-in and they all jump on a Skype call with Harry and lock in two possible dates at the end of the following month that work with everyone’s schedules. Liam and Niall speak with their managers and put the wheels in motion for everything else. It’s going to be a huge undertaking but that’s what they pay their teams for. 

Louis farewells them as the mid-afternoon sun starts to dip toward the horizon. He has a long, emotional night ahead of him with Harry and he doesn’t want to be rushing back. It feels great to have reconnected with Liam and Niall and to have a purpose for the next couple of months in a way he hasn’t felt in years. Now he just needs to clear the air with Harry, put it to rest once and for all so they can move past it.

~~~~

Cleo is licking her paws as she sits on the back of the couch, pointedly ignoring Louis as he fixes up some dinner in the kitchen; punishment for having left her for the last two days. She’s got sass and he loves her even more for it. 

He finishes seasoning the tray of vegetables with some olive oil and sea salt and loads it into the oven, setting the timer and closing the door. The beef cheeks are simmering away on the stovetop and a bottle of red is breathing on the table, with a second ready to go after that. He’s hoping the home-cooked meal and good wine will ease the conversation but he’s prepared for a tough night regardless.

Harry should be here soon so he freshens up and then heads outside for a smoke. The night air takes on an extra chill as the sun bids its final goodbye. From his vantage point on the deck, he can see all the way down the long, tree-lined driveway to the main gate, the lights dotted along the gravel road lighting the foliage from below.

Louis has thought long and hard about what he wants to say, going over it in his head during his drive back from Liam’s and while he was cooking. In truth, he’s been thinking about it for years. It’s been hard to let go, to forgive himself, to forgive Harry. Liam’s right though, he needs some form of resolution.

A text lights up the screen of his phone with an alert from his security system telling him someone’s coming through the gate. Louis looks up and watches as a motorbike makes its way down the drive. Louis rolls his eyes. Of course, Harry’s got a bloody motorbike. Ever the rock star. Like he isn’t hot enough under normal circumstances, now Louis has to deal with him in boots and a leather jacket. Great.

He stubs out his cigarette and goes back inside, kicking off his sheepskin-lined boots and padding across the wooden floors to the front door. The rumble of the motor sounds out in the courtyard, loud and low as he opens the door, the tail light casting a red glow in the walled space.

Harry kicks out the foot stand and lets it take the weight of the bike as he tilts it to the side, shutting off the engine and plunging the courtyard into silence. 

He takes off his helmet, setting it down on the tank in front of him and shakes his hair out, running the fingers of his gloved hand through the thick mop on top. It’s shorter than Louis has seen it in a while, just a few wisps around the nape of his neck creeping down.

Louis leans his hip against the door jam and allows himself to observe the scene unfold before him. Harry always did look good straddling a bike; muscled thighs hugging the metal, torso stretched out, feet flexed.

Harry stands and swings his long, jean-clad leg over the body of the beast, boots crunching on the gravel as he twists around. He hasn’t noticed Louis yet, so he can keep drinking him in because apparently, he’s a masochist. Harry’s got an overnight bag secured to the luggage rack so it looks like he’s well aware this isn’t going to be a short conversation. Louis isn’t sure if that’s a good sign or a disastrous one, either way, at least Harry is taking the situation seriously. He undoes the buckle and picks up the bag, wedging his helmet under his arm and spins around, startled to find Louis watching him.

“Saaaay… that’s a nice bike,” Louis says in his best American drawl.

Harry chuckles, and that’s a good start to the evening. “Please tell me you did  _ not _ just quote Terminator Two at me,” Harry deadpans.

“I’m afraid I did. Is that a deal-breaker?” Louis asks, tilting his head to the side and raising a brow.

“You’re just lucky I drank too many cups of tea this afternoon and need to pee otherwise I’d be outta here,” Harry says as he strides toward Louis, all faux-serious.

Louis smiles and steps back to let Harry inside. “Come on, best sort out that bladder of yours,” Louis says and points to the powder room just off the main hallway in case Harry has forgotten the layout of the house since he was last here, it’s been a fair while after all. He reaches out for Harry’s helmet and bag, the scent of his cologne enveloping Louis as Harry passes by; not too much, just enough.

“Thanks. Won’t be a sec.”

Louis nods and kicks the door closed, heading back into the kitchen. He dumps Harry’s gear on the dining table and pours them both a glass of red. His hand shakes and he takes a deep breath to steady himself, the enormity of having Harry in his house and what’s to come threatening to overwhelm him. It’s just been so long. It used to be so easy, so comfortable. Harry and Louis, Louis and Harry. Lives so intertwined they behaved as one. But now, they’re veritable strangers. Over the entirety of a lifetime, five years is a mere drop in the ocean, but for them, for Louis, it feels like forever. To go from what they had, what they were, to this, it’s… he can’t even wrap his head around it.

“Something smells good,” Harry says from behind him. Louis turns and holds out Harry’s wine, his ringed fingers clinking on the glass as he takes it from Louis, smiling softly. He’s making an effort to be relaxed and Louis appreciates it, the night ahead might be a journey but they both understand the outcome has already been determined. By the end of the evening, they need to have sorted their shit out and be ready to move forward to the benefit concert, the past laid to rest, no matter how winding the path is that they’ll need to travel.

“Mmmm… beef cheeks and baked veggies. Thought something hearty might be nice.”

Harry falters a little, not that most people would have noticed, but Louis does. So he can still read him like a book then. He regains his composure quickly, pasting on a smile. “Love a good beef cheek. Thanks, uhm… thanks for remembering.”

Shit. Beef cheeks were always one of Harry’s favourites. Louis hadn’t even realised. Stupid subconscious mind taking liberties. “Oh yeah. That’s right. Well, hopefully, they don’t disappoint.”

“I’m sure they’ll be lovely,” Harry says and takes a sip of his drink. Cleo chooses that moment to come and see who this stranger is that has invaded her house, leaping up onto the table and sitting primly at the end, pointedly ignoring Louis entirely. She’s a relatively new addition to Louis’ life, picking her up from a shelter a year ago so she and Harry have yet to become acquainted. If Louis were a betting man, he’d wager that the two of them are about to become fast friends.

Harry peaks around Louis and squeals in delight. He’s always had an affinity with animals, something Louis had particularly loved about him, just to add another reason to the long list. “Cleo, say hi to Harry. Be nice.”

“Oh my  _ god _ . Hiiiii….” Harry goes straight up to her. She glances at Louis, eyes narrowed, and then licks Harry’s outstretched hand like the manipulative traitor she’s prone to be.

Louis rolls his eyes and takes off toward the kitchen to check on dinner, clearly, he’s not going to be required for a while. “Just a heads up. Madame and I are not currently on speaking terms, so be prepared for a whole lotta lovin’ from her this evening.”

For the next few minutes, the room is filled with mewls and meows and purrs, not all of which come from the cat. Louis stirs the beef cheeks and turns off the stove, readying some steamed broccolini to go with the baked veggies. 

It’s weirdly comfortable, having Harry here in his home after all these years. It’s not the same as it was, but it’s still okay, the contact they’ve had over the last couple of days has certainly eased the way.

Hearing and watching Harry play with Cleo is warming his heart and he’s having a hard time keeping the smile off his face as he plates up their food. He finally manages to entice Harry away from the feline menace with the aroma of their meal, earning yet another glare from Cleo at her new friend being snatched from her.

The conversation flows freely over dinner, never straying from the safe subject of the benefit show. They polish off the first bottle of red and are two glasses into the second before Harry finally dives in.

“So… dinner was lovely, and I’m looking forward to the show, but we should probably, you know, get down to it.” He says it so matter-of-factly like they aren’t about to rip open old wounds and lay themselves bare.

“Yeah, alright,” Louis says with a hint of resignation. “Let’s clean up and move to the couch.”

They work in silence; Harry rinsing the dishes and Louis loading the dishwasher. It isn’t exactly uncomfortable, more like they’re both just preparing what they want to say without completely destroying the tentative accord they’ve built over the past couple of days. But Louis is keenly aware that sometimes you have to break things down in order to build them up again, better and stronger than they were before.

Harry collects the half bottle of wine and their glasses and Louis finds another bottle and joins him on the couch, both sitting sideways and leaning back against the armrests. The fire is warming the room and Cleo is snuggled into her cat bed by the hearth.

The minutes pass and Harry seems to be waiting for Louis to kick things off, so he decides to ask something he’s always wondered about. “How come you uhm… why didn’t you go solo?”

Harry closes his eyes and breathes deeply, taking another sip of wine. “I didn’t want to. I was tired. I wanted a break.” The short, sharp sentences reveal it's clearly a question he gets asked regularly. “Why didn’t you?” Harry pauses and opens his eyes, throwing the question back at Louis which is fair enough.

“Drummers don’t go solo, Haz.”

“Fair point.” Harry swirls his wine and stares intently at the burgundy liquid. “I think I… I think I was afraid of failing.” His voice is tentative but there’s an honesty and candour in his words Louis hadn’t expected and it bodes well for the rest of the conversation.

“You would’ve been brilliant. You’re so talented. The stage is where you belong.” It’s the truth. Harry was always able to capture the audience and hold them in his grasp, bending them to his will, making them soar to the highest of heights and leaving them begging for more.

Harry shrugs his shoulder. “Wouldn’t have been the same. I didn’t want to be out there without you… you and the boys.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Louis acknowledges with a nod, but leaves it at that, sensing that Harry has more to say.

“I think… I was scared of being out there on my own. Not having the safety net that we’d become for each other. I didn’t want to be alone.” Harry takes a long, slow gulp of his wine, seeming to consider his next words carefully. “Guess that’s why I ended up getting married so quickly too.”

It’s a big leap in their conversation and lands closer to where this has to go. Louis understands, he really does. For a long while he’d tried to surround himself with people, friends, acquaintances trying to fill the gaping hole left in his life when the band ended. He couldn’t imagine attempting to recreate what they had. Liam and Niall are doing great, but it was never going to be on the cards for him and apparently Harry feels the same way.

“I’m sorry about your divorces,” Louis says softly.

Harry snorts out an indignant laugh. “Yeah. Went and fucked up both of those good and proper.”

“Hey. I’m sure you did everything you could,” Louis says reassuringly.

“Maybe. I dunno,” Harry slouches back further into the armrest and draws his knees up, socked feet digging under the cushion. “Guess I’m just not cut out for relationships.”

“Nah. You just picked the wrong first… and second wives. Third times a charm, right?” Louis offers and Harry chuckles, but there’s an edge of self-deprecation that Louis doesn’t like. “You’ve got plenty of time to find the right person, Haz.”

Harry drains the rest of his wine and Louis reaches over for the bottle, refilling both their glasses. “At least I had prenups with both of them,” Harry says with a wry smile.

Louis holds his glass up. “Smart man.”

Harry mirrors his action. “Smart lawyer.”

Louis lets out a laugh and tilts his head in appreciation. “Touché.”

Harry settles back, resting his glass on the top of his knee. “What about you? You never took the plunge?”

“Nah. Just hasn’t been on the cards for me. I hope to… one day.”

Harry eyes him warily and Louis can sense there’s a question he wants to ask. Louis grabs his phone off the coffee table and flicks through to the app for the sound system, connecting the Bluetooth, and picking a playlist while he waits for Harry to gather his thoughts. The music filters through the speakers and fills the quiet.

“Lou? What happened… you know, with us?”

And there it is. The wound ripped open with one question. He’s thought long and hard about what to say when they broached the subject. Rehearsed responses, practised reactions, but now, facing it down with Harry right in front of him, all of those things seem small and foolish. Not enough. Too guarded. Too insincere.

Louis sighs. “We were just on different pages, Haz. It was nobody's fault. I just… it just became too hard.”

Harry looks at him, genuine confusion on his face. “What do you mean?”

God, this is harder than he thought it would be. “I guess it was just… after Amsterdam, things were different, for me, and I... I couldn’t breathe.”

Harry casts his eyes down. “Oh. Okay. I understand,” Harry says, but in a way that makes Louis think that perhaps he doesn’t. “My first wife, Emily, she said that I did that too.”

“Said that you did what?” Now it’s Louis’ turn to be confused.

“That I got too intense. That I crowded her, smothered her with love.”

Louis frowns. “Well, I guess our friendship was pretty intense at times, but don’t think that was our problem exactly. Probably the opposite, if anything.”

Harry looks back up. “What?”

Louis shifts in his seat, agitation building even though he tries to tamp it down. He needs Harry to really hear him, to realise what happened and why. He could dance around it, but that’s not what either of them needs right now. He has to be straight with him so they can get it out and into the open. He takes a deep breath and looks directly at Harry.

“Haz, you literally fucked me, disappeared before the sun rose the next morning, then pretended like nothing had even happened. How is that being too intense?”

It’s blunt and a little bit harsh, but Louis feels justified in the small amount of satisfaction he gets from Harry’s expression as a result. His brows have crept up into his hairline and his eyes are wide with shock. 

“I didn’t… I thought,” Harry stammers, gaze darting around nervously. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what you thought, do I? You never fucking talked to me,” Louis spits out, anger boiling like lava under his skin. “You just turned up to soundcheck the next day like the previous night wasn’t even worthy of acknowledgement. How do you think that made me feel?”

“I thought that you… I was…”

Louis sets his glass down on the coffee table firmly, wine spilling over the rim but he honestly couldn’t give a shit. “What? Speak!” He growls out in frustration.

Harry looks worried now, edging himself into the corner of the couch, eyeing Louis warily. “Please. I’m… I’m sorry. I thought we’d… I thought it was a mistake.”

Louis snorts out an indignant laugh. “Damn right it was. Biggest bloody mistake I ever made,” Louis crosses his arms over his chest defiantly. Or is it protectively? He isn’t sure at this point. It hadn’t felt like a mistake at the time, not to him. The next morning, sure, things became crystal fucking clear then. But that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, as Harry rocked into him, pulling Louis’ orgasm out of him, it had seemed like the final puzzle piece had slotted into place. It had felt right, it had felt like the beginning of the rest of their story, together, not the beginning of the end.

Harry shakes his head violently. “No. It wasn’t. I mean, yes, it was-“

“Oh for Christ’s sake. It was. It wasn’t,” Louis mocks, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Make up your-“

“Stop it! Let me speak, goddamn it!” Harry roars and Louis sucks in a sharp breath as Harry launches to his feet, striding over toward the patio doors and then back again, one hand jammed into his hair, tugging at it, the other balled in a tight fist by his thigh.

Louis moves to the edge of the couch, setting his feet down on the floor, elbows on his knees, watching as Harry paces back and forth, mumbling to himself. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Harry this angry, and the first time that the outburst has been directed at him. He scolds himself internally for having let his own emotions get the better of him. While he knew they had to get this all out in the open, this isn’t what he’d expected, or wanted.

“Harry,” Louis says softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-“

“Shh.  _ Please _ , Louis. Let me just… I need to think.” Harry turns and heads for the patio, struggling with the doors, pushing and then pulling them open, slamming them back on their hinges. The cold air rushes in and sends a shiver down Louis’ spine. Harry’s gone outside without shoes or a coat. The idiot is gonna freeze to death. Louis gets up and slides on his Ugg boots and hoodie, grabbing a second pair of boots and another hoodie for Harry, as well as a couple of beers, his smokes, and a blanket.

Louis walks outside, and throws the stuff for Harry on the lounge, setting down the beers on the table and flicking on the fire pit.

Harry’s leaning on the railing, staring off over the grounds into the darkness. His shoulders are tense, hands tightly gripping the stone balustrade.

“You’re gonna fucking freeze. Put those on,” Louis snaps and Harry turns, gaze following Louis’ outstretched hand to where he’s pointing. 

“I’m fine,” Harry dismisses him curtly but Louis can see he’s shaking. 

“Don’t be a dickhead. Put them on and come over here by the fire.” He’s aiming for conciliatory but it lands more as patronizing. Whatever. It has the desired outcome and Harry stomps over, shoving his feet into the boots and pulling the hoodie over his head. 

Louis lights two cigarettes and holds one out for Harry.

“Don’t smoke anymore,” Harry says petulantly and slumps down onto the lounge.

“Sure you do.” Louis waves the cigarette in his face and Harry scrunches his nose, pausing for a beat before snatching it out of Louis’ hand. Louis slides one of the beers over to him and then tucks his foot under his bum, waiting for Harry’s next move.

The silence stretches out as they drink their beers, smokes burning down to the butts. Harry stubs his out and swivels around, turning to face him. “Alright. I’m ready.” There’s a resolute tone in his voice, calm and even. 

“Okay,” Louis says, preparing himself for what Harry is going to reveal.

“So I’ve just replayed the last fifteen fucking years of my life-“

“Speedy.”

Harry scowls at him. “Seriously? You’re gonna-“

“Sorry. Continue,” Louis concedes with a wave of his beer.

Harry’s scowl softens, a more composed expression drifting over his features. The light from the fire licks at his jawline, the cold night air pinking his cheeks. Louis is suddenly thrown back in time to their first tour; small venues and crappy hotels, but every day filled with excitement and joy for what they were doing. They’d been on the road for a month when they’d stopped at a tiny town in nowhere Germany. Winter had descended, a fresh snowfall covering the ground, and Louis and Harry were outside by the fire, rugged up and making their way to the bottom of a bottle of brandy. The golden hue from the fire was painting Harry’s silhouette and it was the moment Louis had realised that he was in love with him; inconvenient and painful as it was, he’d been helpless to resist.

As Louis looks at him now, a pang of hurt stabs him in the chest because he knows, deep down, that he still feels the same way even after all these years, after everything that’s happened, he’s  _ still _ helpless to resist.

Louis blinks out of his reverie as Harry clears his throat. “I just need to clarify a few things, so I’m gonna ask you questions, and you’re going to answer them, honestly. Alright? And you can do the same. No bullshit. No hiding. No sparing each other’s feelings. Just the truth. Because I swear to god if we don’t do this now, I’m going to walk out that fucking door and never look back. I’ll do the benefit show for Liam, but then we’re done, you and I are through.”

Louis is a little taken aback by the finality of Harry’s words but he’s right. This is Louis’ chance to get it all out there, to tell him everything, to get closure on this part of his life, and hopefully, finally, move on. He’s waited five long years for this and he’s more ready than he realised.

“Alright,” Louis says and sets his beer down, turning back and sitting cross-legged on the lounge, hands clasped in his lap and giving Harry his full attention. “Fire away.”

“Why did you shut me out after Amsterdam?”

So, diving straight in then. “What do you mean?”

“You could barely look at me.”

Louis wants to snap back at him but that’s not going to help this process. He straightens his shoulders and unclenches his jaw. “As I said inside,” he starts, trying to keep a calm, even tone. “We slept together and it obviously meant nothing to you. I didn’t know how to be around you after that.”

“Why did you think it meant nothing to me?”

Louis feels like this is pointless but he perseveres. “Again. As I said inside. You left without saying anything to me.”

“I had a physio session at seven in the morning. I tried to wake you, but you just grumbled at me about it being too early, so I left you to sleep.”

Louis frowns, casting his mind back but he has no recollection at all. “I don’t… I don’t remember that.” Harry nods, pausing, and Louis can practically see the cogs turning in his head. Louis takes the opportunity to jump in with his own question. “So what did it mean to you? Us sleeping together.”

“Like I’d ruined everything. Like I’d taken this amazing friendship we had and flushed it down the toilet because I couldn’t keep myself in check. Then when you pulled away from me, I had the confirmation I’d feared.”

“But I only pulled away because you pretended like nothing had happened.”

“And I pretended like nothing had happened because you pulled away,” Harry repeats back at him. “I was trying to salvage our friendship. I was so afraid of losing you, of wrecking what we had… but I lost you anyway.”

“Yeah. Well. We lost each other, didn’t we,” Louis says flatly. It’s not a question, it’s a simple statement of fact. They  _ had _ lost each other. In the weeks that came after, that leg of the tour had wrapped up and they all went their own ways, back to their lives. By the time they came back together for the final shows in the UK a few weeks later, they’d become distant, awkward; stilted conversations, out of sync on stage and off. Two days before the final show they all met and agreed on the break and that was that. 

“Yeah, we did,” Harry says mournfully.

Louis lights another cigarette, offering the packet to Harry but he begs off, shaking his head, and picking up his beer instead. Louis stretches out his legs and grabs the blanket off the back of the couch, laying it over himself and lifting the end up with his foot for Harry to slide his legs underneath. They slot together, side by side, Harry’s socked feet nudging at Louis’ thigh, and Louis’ doing the same to Harry.

Louis takes a drag of his smoke and blows it out, tendrils of fog rising slowly into the heavy air, damp with dew. “What did you mean when you said you couldn’t keep yourself in check?”

Harry sighs, tilting his head up to the night sky. “I meant exactly that. I’d…  _ fuck _ . Alright.” Harry lowers his gaze but doesn’t look at Louis, preferring to stare intently at his bottle as he picks at the label. “I’d kept myself in check for so long… when it came to you, to us. But that night, I was riding high from the show, and then at the club, dancing with you, being so close, I lost myself. A single moment of weakness and I let myself have…”

“Have what?” Louis asks, but he doesn't know what he wants the answer to be. His brain is a whirling mess of insecurity and confusion. 

Harry raises his head and meets Louis’ gaze, staring right into his soul, past all the walls he’s carefully constructed, walls so high no one has been able to climb them, penetrate them. But with one look from those beautiful green eyes, they crumble like dust. Louis feels like he’s on the precipice of something monumental, life-changing, like the air is charged around them, ready to combust with a single spark.

Finally, Harry speaks. “I let myself have what I’d wanted for ten years. I let myself have you.”

They sit and stare at each other, the silence stretching between them, like physical space that’s filled with nothing and everything. All the time that’s passed. All the memories they haven’t made.

“You’d wanted me for ten years?” Louis manages to croak out, voice raspy and heavy with emotion.

Harry chuckles softly. “Yeah. Stupid right?”

Louis hangs his head, chin resting on his chest, and closes his eyes. Images of a life unlived flash behind his eyelids. God knows how many years wasted, longing and pining, heartbreak, all for nothing. He wants to scream and throw things and have Harry do the same. He wants to punch him and hug him in equal measure. He wants to rip out his own heart and give it to Harry, thrust it into his hands, bloody and still beating to prove that it does so only for him. Always for him. 

Laughter bubbles up from deep within, bursting out without his permission and Louis throws his head back, looking up into the blackened sky. “Oh, for  _ fuck’s _ sake!” He shouts into the air, angry and exasperated and overwhelmingly happy.

“What the hell?” Harry asks indignantly, and Louis lowers his gaze to find Harry’s less than fond expression. Right. Harry’s not actually inside his head and hasn’t been on this little epiphany rollercoaster so he has to say the words out loud. But wait. What if he doesn’t still have feelings for Louis? It’s been five years.

“How do you feel about me now?”

Harry’s brows knit together warily. “Not sure I like you much right at this moment if I’m being honest.”

“Fair point. But like, do you still have feelings for me?”

Harry sets his empty beer bottle down on the table and crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “Why?”

Louis could tiptoe around this or for once in his life he could take a leap of faith and just rely on someone being there to catch him. Hopefully that someone will be Harry.

So he throws caution to the wind... and leaps.

“Because I’ve been in love with you for fifteen years, give or take, and I was wondering if maybe you still felt anything for me.”

Harry doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stares like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the punchline to be spoken, for Louis to laugh or take it back. Louis just sits and smiles and waits. This could be disastrous.  _ This _ could be the biggest mistake of his life. But something, something deep inside of him is telling him it isn’t. He’s right. He just knows it.

A crease forms between Harry’s brows. “You were in love with me?”

“Was. Am. You know, forever and always.”

“You’re in love with me,” Harry states, still not giving anything away.

“I feel like we’ve been over this,” Louis says with a smirk. “But yes. I’m in love with you.”

Harry tilts his head back and throws his arms out to the side, taking a deep breath and holding it in. “Oh, for  _ fuck’s _ sake!” He shouts at the sky, parroting Louis’ words back at him.

Louis can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips, loud and full and so fucking joyful. “So I take that as a yes? You still have feelings for me?”

Harry lowers his head and gets up on his knees, lifting the blanket and shuffling forward, coming to rest straddling Louis’ lap. He wraps the blanket around his shoulders and leans forward, taking Louis' face in his cold hands, fingers threading into Louis’ hair. “You stupid, wonderful, obtuse little man.”

“Oi!” Louis pokes him in the chest. “Who are you calling little?”

Harry smiles big and broad and closes the distance, his warm breath caressing Louis’ lips. “Shut up. Just shut  _ up _ for once in your goddamn life,” Harry says against his mouth.

Louis licks his lips and reaches up, twining his fingers behind Harry’s head and pulls him in. Harry’s lips are dry and slightly chapped but Louis can fix that, running his tongue over them and then he dives in, no preamble, no hesitation. Harry gives as good as he gets, moving Louis’ head to where he wants it, grinding down on him, kissing with his whole body. It’s urgent and desperate and Louis is breathless with want and need, never thinking he would get to feel this again, to have his hands on Harry, to know what it's like to feel him close, holding him, and now, loving him openly for the first time. 

Seconds stretch into minutes, exploring, touching, gasping for breath when they can, when they allow themselves small enough slivers of space between them to suck in a sharp inhale before closing the gap like they can’t bear to be apart even for an instant. It’s heady and all-consuming and Louis is dizzy with it.

Harry finally slows the pace, nosing down Louis' cheek to his stubbled jaw. “Fuck, I love you so much. I’ve always loved you. From the moment I saw you in that dingy pub, I knew you were something special. Then you sat behind the kit and started drumming and I was a total goner. You had me from the first beat.”

Louis giggles into the air, Harry’s hair tickling his cheek. He guides Harry’s face back up so he can look him in the eyes. No longer wary and unsure, Harry’s gaze is full of love and adoration. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”

“Heeeey… I’m a romantic,” Harry says and leans in for another kiss, plush full lips, puffy and spit slick, gently nudging at Louis’ own.

“Mmmmm, maybe,” Louis murmurs as he pulls away. “Come on, lay down with me.”

Harry rolls off Louis and angles himself so they’re facing each other, slotting his arm under Louis’ head and humming contentedly. Louis draws the blanket up over them and tangles their legs together, sighing happily at being in Harry’s warm embrace.

Harry trails his fingertips down Louis’ cheek following the path with his eyes. “We should probably talk. You know, about stuff.”

Louis nods, sliding his hand up and over Harry’s waist, tucking his fingers into the back pocket of his jeans. “Yeah. We’ve got a bit of catching up to do.”

“We do, and we do need to talk, but I really just want to take you to bed,” Harry says with a smirk and meets Louis’ gaze.

“Harold! How very dare you,” Louis chides. “I’m not that kind of boy.”

Harry’s smile brightens even more. “Well, I think you’re exactly that kind of boy, but I also want to talk, so let’s compromise. Talk for an hour and then I get to have my way with you for the rest of the night.”

“Hmmmm…” Louis says, looking up to the sky and pretending he’s actually considering Harry’s proposition as if he doesn’t want to drag Harry to bed this instant. “Alright. You drive a hard bargain but, deal. One hour then you’re taking me upstairs and we’re not leaving my bed until morning,” Louis says with a grin and Harry lets out a frustrated groan, nipping at Louis’ bottom lip and kicking off another heated snogging session.

They do talk, though, and for longer than the agreed hour. There’s just so much to cover. And whilst Louis does want to make it upstairs eventually, laying in Harry’s arms, talking openly about their feelings and their pasts, isn’t exactly a bad consolation prize. 

Louis pillows his hands under his head and Harry tugs him in closer as he continues to try and explain, both to Louis and to himself, how he’d managed to be twice married and divorced in five years.

“In that first year, after the band went on hiatus, when I was traipsing around the world, it was like I was trying to outrun my broken heart. I thought if I could just go far enough, run fast enough, I could escape the hurt and pain. But you can’t escape yourself. And I was just so lonely, Lou. So I came home. But even then I was lonely. It was like there was this void inside me, like a hunger that I couldn’t overcome. I bought things; cars and houses and motorbikes. I tried to find comfort with friends and family. I even tried writing music but everything I churned out was utter shit and just made me more miserable. I think... with Emily and Polly, I think subconsciously, I was searching for what we had, or maybe, what I had wanted with you, the life I’d envisioned. I tried, I really did, and I loved each of them at the time, but there was always something missing. Something was never quite right. I guess they just weren't you.”

“I’m so sorry, Haz. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.”

“It is what it is,” Harry replies softly, tracing the script on Louis’ chest through his clothes.

Louis tells Harry about his life after the band went on their break, his experiences, how he’d felt lost too, wandering, searching for a way to fill the void in his own heart. Friends and acquaintances and too much partying. How he’d felt disconnected from the world, and had given into it, closing himself off and disappearing into his writing. He opens up and shares the real stories behind his lyrics, songs that are out there for public consumption, and those that aren’t. How he’d been able to hide his feelings in plain sight, other people singing his words, words that were written for Harry, about Harry.

They eventually make their way onto the subject of the benefit concert. Harry’s concerns about his ability to perform after this long have been playing on his mind. 

“I’m afraid, Lou. What if I can’t do it anymore? What if I’ve lost my mojo?”

“Harry. You’re the strongest man I know. You were always so fearless up there. And even if we’re shit, even if people think we’re old-news, it won’t matter. As long as we’re together, strong enough to face it together, we’ll be fine. I’ll be there, right behind you like I always was, like I always will be.”

Harry sighs, deep and melancholy, casting his eyes downward. “But what if I fuck it up in front of all those people, Lou?”

“Hey, look at me,” Louis says and Harry lifts his gaze, eyes glassy with tears and worry. “You won’t. I know you won’t. Just look inside and you’ll remember, and if that doesn’t work, then all you have to do is look at me. I’ve got your back. We’re in this together.”

“Thanks, Lou. And for what it’s worth, I’ve got your back too. Always.”

Louis leans in and seals their lips together, trying to convey all the emotions that are rampaging around inside him. He reaches up and threads his fingers into the hair at the base of Harry’s neck, tugging gently and eliciting a low moan from Harry’s throat. “I love you so much. Take me to bed, Haz. Please,” he whispers into Harry's mouth.

Harry smiles into the kiss. “Fuck yeah, let’s go.”

They make their way back inside, saying goodnight to Cleo before heading upstairs. Louis leads the way with Harry trailing behind, one hand on Louis’ waist, the other carrying his overnight bag. They get ready for bed, leaving their briefs on and changing into sleep shirts, and then clean their teeth side by side at the sink in his ensuite. It’s awfully domestic and in no way hints at the burgeoning passion Louis feels bubbling under his skin, ready to explode. But there’s plenty of time for that, their whole lives actually. Of course, that doesn’t change the fact that he wants Harry to absolutely wreck him the minute they hit the bed.

Louis turns off the lights and they both crawl under the covers, only a sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains to light the room. The bed is soft and the sheets are cool to the touch so they lay on their sides and snuggle in close. Louis listens to the even meter of Harry’s breathing. It’s been a while since he had someone in his bed, lying next to him, peaceful, quiet.

Louis snorts out a laugh. “This isn’t exactly how I thought this would go down.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry muses as he reaches out and runs his fingers down Louis’ cheek, cupping his jaw in the palm of his hand. “How did you think it would go?” 

“Thought you’d be more… like… tearing our clothes off.”

Harry chuckles. “Well, that’s neither practical nor sensible. No use ruining perfectly good clothes, particularly when we have the rest of our lives to fuck each other’s brains out every which way and twice on Sundays.”

“Only twice on Sundays?”

“We’re not as young as we used to be, you know?”

“We’re not old men either,” Louis counters, poking him in the shin with his big toe.

“Fine,” Harry says with a smirk, the silver moonlight illuminating his features. “Twice every day and three times on Sundays. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Harry pulls Louis toward him and seals their lips together. It’s chaste and gentle and all kinds of lovely but Louis is done waiting. He rolls over on top of Harry and straddles his hips, planting his hands on either side of his head and deepening their kiss as Harry’s hands slide down to his arse. Louis pulls his shirt over his head and Harry lifts up to divest himself of his own shirt, their bare chests warm against each other’s skin.

“God. Your arse. I’ve always been obsessed with it,” Harry says, cupping each cheek in his big paws, kneading them firmly.

Louis kisses a line down Harry’s neck to his nipple which is standing up to attention and begging to be sucked. He licks around the bud and bites down gently, eliciting a wanton moan from the man beneath him. “Yeah? I’ve always had a thing for your nipples. So pink and puffy.”

Harry moans again and Louis takes his time, paying each of the main nipples ample attention before moving onto the other two. Harry writhes on the bed, whining high in his throat as his breathing becomes laboured. He splays his hands on Louis' lower back and slides them under the waistband of his briefs, pushing them down to the crease where his arse meets his thighs. Louis straightens his legs out and moves to the side, pushing his briefs off the rest of the way and helping Harry with his.

Harry rolls them over and slots between Louis’ legs diving in for another kiss with more intent this time, more urgent. Louis lets his hands roam over the broad expanse of Harry’s back, his muscles shifting under the taut skin as Harry sucks and nips his way down Louis’ neck and chest, teasing at his nipples, tracing his chest piece with his tongue.

“I just wanna lick you all over. Your skin tastes so good, Lou.”

Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s hips, grinding up to give them the friction they both desperately want. They let out a sharp exhales as Harry presses down, cocks rubbing together, both hard against each other.

“ _ Fuck _ , yeah. God, I’d forgotten how massive you are. Want you in me,” Louis murmurs into Harry’s ear. “Come on.”

Harry chuckles into Louis' neck. “Eager much?”

Louis takes Harry’s face in his hands and stares into his eyes. “Five. Fucking.  _ Years _ , Haz.”

Harry grins. “Point taken. Got stuff?”

Louis flings his arm out to the side and points at the bedside table. Harry knees up and crawls over, grabbing some lube and string of condoms, tearing one off the strip and chucking the rest back into the drawer.

Louis lazily strokes his cock and looks up at Harry. “You wanna do the honours?”

“Hell yeah,” Harry replies with a mischievous grin. “Just try and stop me. This arse is mine now. For all eternity.”

Louis giggles and flips onto his stomach. He grabs a pillow, lifting his hips and shoving it underneath, spreading his legs wide. “Have at it then,” he says smugly over his shoulder, wiggling his arse for added effect.

Harry growls in response and gives him a playful slap, flipping the lid on the lube, eyes wide and glassy. “Can’t believe I get to have you like this. I never thought-“

“Oi! No soppy emotional crap. I want you in me sometime this century.”

“Ugh. So impatient,” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. Louis watches as he slicks up his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the liquid, and when he looks back up again, there’s a hunger in his eyes, animalistic and raw.

“You look like you want to eat me alive.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth curls up into a wry smile. “That can wait for round two.”

Harry edges forward and pushes his knees into Louis' inner thighs, spreading them further apart. He rubs a dry finger over his hole, eyeing it in wonder as Louis reflexively clenches and releases, before bringing his other hand up and spreading the lube around the rim. It’s not too cold but still makes Louis jolt at the sensation. It’s been a while since he’s been fucked, a long while actually, but he tries to calm his nerves. He wants this so badly, and besides, it’s Harry, he knows he’ll treat him right.

“Go slow, yeah? It’s been a while.”

Harry leans over his back, planting his clean hand next to Louis’ shoulder and ducks down for a kiss. “Don't worry. I’ll take care of you, baby.”

Louis keens at the pet name and cranes his neck, their lips meeting as Harry slowly pushes his finger inside. Louis grimaces into Harry’s mouth at the intrusion, but Harry just parts his lips with his tongue and licks into him. Louis feels his tight ring of muscle relax slightly and as Harry gently pumps it in and out, just up to the first knuckle. Louis breaks away from the kiss and pillows his head on his arms, breathing deeply. In and out. His inhales and exhales mirroring Harry’s movements as he opens him up.

He lets himself get lost in the sensations, the tension gradually easing out of him. “More. Another,” Louis murmurs, nodding into his arms.

Harry adds more lube, dribbling it down Louis’ crack, rubbing circles in his back lovingly as he adds another finger. He’s whispering sweet nothings, praising Louis, telling him how much this means to him, and Louis’ head is swimming with want and need, dizzy, grinding his hips down into the pillow to try and get some friction on his cock.

“Shhhh… it’s okay. I’ll take care of you, Lou.” Harry kisses down his spine as a third finger joins the mix, stretching him out, stroking his walls, encouraging him to let go.

Harry edges closer and closer to where Louis wants him the most, just a little further. Louis lifts his hips and pushes back on Harry’s hand and then he’s there. Louis arches his back and raises up onto his elbows, tilting his pelvis, trying to draw Harry in further. “Fuck!  _ Yeah _ , right there.”

“That’s it, baby, take what you want,” Harry says breathlessly, rubbing at his prostate as Louis grinds back rhythmically, over and over again, head hanging down as electricity shoots around his body, firing into his dick and making it leak onto the pillow. It feels fucking amazing. Harry’s long fingers dance inside him, relentless, merciless, pulling moans and whines from within Louis effortlessly.

“I’m ready. I’m ready. Fuck. Want you inside. Please, Haz. I’m ready,” Louis begs. 

“Yeah, okay,” Harry pants. “I’m gonna give you what you need. I’ll always give you what you need. I promise.”

Louis believes him, trusts him, in a way he’s never trusted anyone else. He knows that Harry will always be there for him, protecting him, loving him. In bed. In life. In every way possible. 

He hears Harry tear open the condom and slick himself up, fingers still buried deep inside, massaging, scissoring, making sure Louis is ready.

Louis raises his head and looks over his shoulder. Harry looks completely debauched. Chest flushed, hair messy, and he’s the most beautiful thing Louis has ever seen. He needs to see his face as he slides into him, fucks him, comes apart.

“Wanna… wanna be on my back. Wanna see you,” Louis rasps out, his words barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears.

Harry nods and pulls his fingers out. The loss is unwelcome but Louis knows it’s brief and there’s better coming soon. Harry shuffles back and Louis flips over, spreading his legs for Harry to slot between them. Louis draws his knees up, exposing himself completely. Harry just smiles down at him and knees forward, lining up his cock at Louis’ hole and dropping down onto one hand beside Louis’ hip to steady himself. 

Harry nudges his cock at Louis’ rim. “You ready, baby?”

Louis nods and cranes his neck up for a kiss which Harry rewards him with easily. Harry takes a deep breath and pushes in, the head of his cock stretching his entrance wider. There’s a pressure and a slight sting as his muscles resist before they finally give and suck Harry inside. 

“Oh fuck. Oh god,” Louis says, eyes wide, not breaking his gaze with Harry.

“That’s it. Just a little more. Nearly there,” Harry says soothingly.

“Says you with the massive dick,” Louis chides and he’s joking, of course, but Harry frowns and stills his movements anyway, trembling at the effort it takes to stop himself from slamming straight in.

“You alright?” Harry asks, concern etched in his voice.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good, love,” Louis says reassuringly. “Come on. Keep going.”

Louis threads his hands up into Harry's hair and pulls him down for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss as Harry pushes in further. He’s so big, thick and long, and Louis can feel it everywhere. His own dick has flagged temporarily but that will resolve itself quickly once his body gets with the program.

Finally, Harry bottoms out, thighs flush with Louis’ arse. There’s sweat beading at Harry’s temples and on his upper lip, and his pupils are blown wide. 

Louis sucks in a few calming breaths as Harry waits patiently, concentration evident on his face. “Fuck. Feel so full,” Louis says and closes his eyes, starting to circle his hips in small undulating motions. It feels fucking amazing. He lets his eyes drift open and refocus on Harry hovering above him, still frozen in place. “Okay. Let’s go, big boy,” Louis says with a cheeky smirk and a raise of his eyebrows.

“Nrrrghhh…” Harry groans out and pulls back, holding for a beat, and then sliding back in. Moans fall from both their lips as Louis grips onto Harry’s shoulders and he pulls out and slams back in again. “Fuck. You’re so tight. Jesus Christ. Not gonna last long.”

Louis drops one of his hands to his dick and starts stroking it in time with Harry’s onslaught, bringing himself back to full hardness as Harry builds to a punishing pace. 

“Yes!” Louis shouts as Harry’s finds his prostate, nudging at it with every other thrust. “That’s it. Right there!”

“Taking me so well, baby,” Harry says, eyes fixed as he watches himself slide in and out of Louis’ body. He grabs Louis’ ankle and throws it over his shoulder, deepening the angle. Louis is letting out a constant whine, interspersed with a litany of curses and praise and encouragement. Harry’s pounding into him, pushing him up the bed. Louis braces himself with his free hand, stripping his cock with the other. There’s a familiar tugging sensation low in his gut, his orgasm readying itself to burst.

“I’m close. So fucking close, Haz,” Louis says breathlessly.

Harry’s movements become erratic. “Me too. Me too,” Harry pants out.

Two more thrusts and that’s all Louis needs. He crashes over the edge with an inhuman wail, strings of come shooting out of his dick and over his hand and stomach.

Harry follows him quickly, back arching, mouth hanging open on a silent scream as he pulses into the condom, and it’s one of the most beautiful things Louis has ever witnessed.

Louis lets his leg drop down to the bed as Harry slumps forward, blanketing Louis with his body, chests heaving, gasping for air. It’s sticky and sweaty and gross and Louis wouldn’t have it any other way.

Harry eventually pulls out and rolls off him, chucking the condom onto the wooden floor to be dealt with later. Louis’ arse is throbbing but in the best possible way and his hamstring is going to hate him tomorrow. In his post-orgasmic state, he muses that he’ll have to start yoga or something now that he’s going to be getting a good dicking on the regular. He chuckles and Harry turns on his side, propping himself up on his elbow.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Louis says and rolls on his side to face Harry. “Just thinking I’ll have to get in shape. Maybe yoga? Or Pilates? Increase my flexibility and core strength.”

Harry laughs and rolls his eyes, leaning in and kissing Louis’ lips. “I do yoga, you know. I could teach you.”

“Hmmmm… I like the sound of that.”

Harry reaches up and brushes Louis’ fringe off his sweaty forehead. “That was amazing. Thank you, Lou.”

Louis runs his clean hand down Harry’s side and rests it at the dip of his waist. “Yeah. Was pretty mind-blowing.”

Harry looks deep into his eyes. “I love you so much, Lou. You’ve made me so happy I feel like I wanna scream it from the rooftops.”

“Not sure the neighbours would appreciate that.”

“You don’t have any neighbours,” Harry deadpans.

“Ohhhhh, true, true. Oh well. Feel free to make a spectacle of yourself then,” Louis says with a smirk.

Harry rolls onto his back making like he’s going to get up and Louis grabs a hold of him. “Oi! I was kidding, you great oaf.”

Harry turns his head and smiles back at him. “Wanna get cleaned up and snuggle?”

“Yeah. Love a good snuggle. Come on,” Louis pats Harry’s stomach gently. “We’re disgusting.”

As they get up and head into the bathroom, Louis thinks back to their night together five years ago. It’s so fresh in his mind, like it was only yesterday, imprinted on his brain forever, but he doesn’t remember it  _ feeling _ so much, being so perfect, so right. He guesses being in love, and having that love returned, changes things and he couldn’t be happier.

It might have taken them a while, years even, down a long and winding road to get to this point, but they’re here now. And Louis is sure, more sure than he’s ever been of anything, that with the love of his life by his side, now and forever, his future is bright, and he’ll never be lonely again.


	3. Epilogue

Harry can hear the crowd stomping their feet, can feel it reverberating through the arena like rolling thunder. His palms are damp as he untangles his earbuds from his necklaces for what feels like the millionth time. 

He watches as Louis sets himself at the drum kit. Tank top cut low under his arms, tattoos sleek under the subdued lighting. One hand is occupied spinning a stick on his fingertips while the other flicks his fringe; old habits die hard it seems. Louis looks up and catches Harry's eye, a bright smile spreading across his face. Harry is thrown back to a time when this same scene played out more nights than not. Out there, on the road, screaming crowds each night, sweat making his shirt cling to his body, throat raw from singing his heart out, giving everything he had. A thrill shoots down his spine. It's so familiar. And then Louis blows him a kiss and mouths the words _ I love you _ . Harry slams back into his body, suddenly very much in the present and eternally grateful for it. Harry smiles and blows him a kiss right back. Louis makes a show of catching it and tucking it into his jeans pocket like the complete loon he is. Harry's in love with a sap.

It's been two months since they finally got their shit together and they've been the best two months of Harry's life. He's never felt so settled and yet excited for each new day. Louis brings him a joy like he’d never dared hope for. He’d searched for years and never found anything that even came close.

It wasn’t all plain sailing, of course, they had a lot of baggage to sort through. There were tears and some fights too, nothing serious, born more out of frustration at the time they had lost than anything else. But they worked through it all. Never shying away from the hard stuff, never skipping over anything, always open and honest.

They haven't spent a day apart since they got together. Harry's things had started to magically migrate over to Louis' house after that first night; a bag here, a boot-load there. Three weeks later Louis had booked movers to bring the rest of his gear over saying that he was tired of the dribble effect and Harry just needed to move in already. Even though he hadn't thought it possible, Harry had maybe fallen a little bit more in love.

The thing about Louis, and Harry's feelings for him, are that they're all-encompassing. Harry wakes up every morning and he can barely contain his joy that the love of his life is lying next to him, snuffling away plastered to his back. He never thought he would get to have this and he sends a silent prayer with each sunrise and sunset he gets to spend with him.

Harry has started writing too. It’s early days and it’s little more than tinkering really, but Louis encourages him every step of the way and has even used one of his melodies for a song he’ll sell on to someone else. More than anything though, he’s enjoying the process, and getting to work side by side with Louis is an added bonus.

He’s not sure what career path he’ll take, but there’s no rush. Louis assures him that it’ll come, he’ll work it out, he just needs to find his thing. For now, he’s content just letting things unfold of their own accord. 

Harry hears Niall’s familiar cackle off to the side, and he glances over to find him sharing a joke with Liam and a couple of their roadies. The boys have been wonderfully supportive. Liam, ever the big brother of the group, had sat them down and given them both a stern talking to. Niall had just said a simple  _ ‘You bastards are perfect for each other, don’t fuck this up’ _ and then pulled them into a warm hug.

To no one's surprise, the benefit concert is sold out; their fans snapping up the tickets in record time. So now, fifteen thousand people are waiting for them in the darkness. The stage lights are off and the house lights are down, just the big screen flickering, running a highlight video of Vertigo's time as a band. Only a few minutes more and they'll burst onto the stage.

Harry puts in his earbuds and adjusts the strap on his guitar, checking his pocket for extra picks and getting into position on the darkened stage along with Liam and Niall as Louis is raised up from below, already at his kit.

Harry takes one last look back at the man he loves as the stage lights fire to life and the audience goes absolutely insane. Louis grins and strikes the first beat and Harry turns to face the crowd, certain in the knowledge that he can do this, that he can do anything with Louis behind him, beside him, forever.

Together, they’re fearless. Together, they’re strong enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome, they make me happy and motivate me to keep writing. xx
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [ jacaranda-bloom ](https://jacaranda-bloom.tumblr.com/) and if you’d like to reblog my [ Tumblr fic post ](https://jacaranda-bloom.tumblr.com/post/618465325867057152/strong-enough-by-jacaranda-bloom-explicit-21k) that would be lovely!


End file.
